


as i write, you fade.

by transplisetsky



Category: Original Work
Genre: Character Death, Depression, Epistolary, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Implied/Referenced Torture, Letters, Memories, Mental Health Issues, Non-Graphic Violence, Non-Linear Narrative, Past Character Death, Past Relationship(s), Past Torture, Past Violence, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-03-07
Updated: 2017-03-07
Packaged: 2018-09-30 11:20:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,006
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10162034
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/transplisetsky/pseuds/transplisetsky





	1. praying is for those who can't forget.

> | 01:36 am. a polluted city, in a roof.  

I wish we are seeing the same moon because I feel so sad. But you aren’t hearing me, right?

I hope, wherever you are, I hope you are happy, truly happy. I know I’m not. I… I tried, but it’s just…

It should have been me, you know? I can’t stop thinking about it. It should have been me. You loved to live, you always said that when everything was over, when the bill was filled, you’d go and live the great life. You said you’d go on adventures and parties and you’d fall in love a hundred times with the city lights, you’d scream at the wind, with the wind, against the wind. You’d be a force of nature, unstoppable, unforgettable.  You would **_live_**.

And, you remember? You said you’d teach me to love life, to love _my_ life. And I laughed so hard that time… You got angry, y’know? You did that thing with your mouth, trying to touch your nose with your lips. And I laughed harder.

I was so broken I thought myself beyond repair and… I didn’t…

I didn’t want to believe you could accomplish such task but, at the same time, I wanted it to become real. I wanted to listen to you talking about life, about living not only breathing. I really wanted it because… because you seemed _so happy_ imagining us and I liked _so much_ to see you that way, vibrating with life.

And I’m so sad I don’t know what to do with myself.

I’m tired of being sad.

And I miss you.

And I love you.

And everything about you is fading in my mind.

I… I can’t play the sound of your voice in my head. I’ve forgotten it. And I can’t see the right shade of green of your eyes. I don’t know how many freckles you had or the exact movement of the corner of your mouth when you tried not to laugh.

I still wait for you to call me, to almost sing in my ear to get up and go hunt stars and _breathe, you’re living not only surviving_.

You know? There is nobody who can be around me while I’m crying. Not the same way you were. I get angry if they come because they don’t know.

They just don’t.

And I miss you                

And I’m sad.

And I want to stop being sad.

And I hate myself so much I don’t know who am I anymore. I stopped being comfortable with myself, my own body seems alien to me. I see what I am, what I’m supposed to be, and I want to tear me apart. My breasts, my legs, the lost fucking beat. I want to destroy myself and become him. But I hate myself so much I don’t know what I want anymore. I don’t really care about who I am.

I really… I really miss you.

And me, I miss me.

It should have been me, I can’t stop crying. I should have protected you better. It should have been me.

But you liked adventures.

And you wanted new experiences.

I would give **everything** to change it.

You loved to live and I _didn’t._

You should have kept living, not me. Because I did all the wrong things, I was bad, I hurt people because of money and fun.

And you died and not me, like some kind of fucking punishment for my own self-hate.

And I’m so sad.

You didn’t deserve it, you deserved better.

And I want you to hear me but if you do, it means that you are not resting. And I want you to rest, I want you to be at peace, I want you to stop suffering. And if you’re hearing me, it means you’re stuck here, in the middle of nowhere.

And I love you.

And why everything I want turns to be bad for someone? Why do I always hurt people? I love you and I’m sorry. I’m trying, I really am.

You always said that life wasn’t doing or not, it was trying. You try and things can go right or wrong. And living is to keep trying. And I _am_ trying, I swear. But it is so hard. It doesn’t matter how many times I try, it always go wrong.

And I get so sad everytime…

I miss you, I miss you so bad. It should have been me, not you. I’m trying to live for you, because of you, but it doesn’t work. I feel like some part of me was ripped straight out of my chest and I tried so hard to fill it, to stop the cracks, but they don’t. You said that holes wanted to be filled, but this one just wants to grow bigger.

When, when we were all together, even if it was dangerous, I was feeling happy. I thought… I know I was always saying that those were the worst moments of my life, but I was joking. I had a family, I had friends. We were together, no matter what.

When he told me what was happening, he didn’t want me to go with him. But I did. I would have followed him into the fiery depths of hell and crawled back to earth without thinking twice. He was my only family and I felt… And then you came and the others too. And I felt at ease. I felt safe for the first time in years. We said we would be always there. Because we hadn’t anyone else.

But they moved on. And I was left alone.

He did it to protect me. The others to protect themselves. And I cried because I knew they were right, but I didn’t want _right_.

And now I’m so sad.

I want to leave, I want to disappear. But that would mean to die. That’s what I want.

But I never get what I want. And I’m living for you. And I just want to stop crying.

And I miss you.

And it should have been me. Because I was the younger, but you said it. I was older to my age. I wasn’t fifteen. I was older than that. And you were eighteen. You didn’t deserve to die. I did. I still pray so if someone listens to me, they’ll bring you back and take me as payment.

I’m trying. I’m trying but it’s so hard. I’ve been trying too much. It doesn’t work. Everything that works for others, it’s useless for me.

I’m sorry. I’m so sorry…

No one loves me now. No one can love me the way you did. The people I like don’t come around me and the people I don’t care about pollute my surroundings. I feel filled with emptiness. There’s rust in my feelings, dust and cobwebs and so much emptiness. I don’t remember how was to feel something besides sadness and monotone indifference.

And I’m so sad I can’t stop crying. It hurts to cry, it hurts to not.

I can’t see the differences anymore. There isn’t a _me_ , there are just spare parts, lost pieces of a bigger puzzle. And I’m sorry I’m bothering you.  But I feel so alone and I miss you so much. I can’t talk to anyone because they don’t know what to say, what to do. 

You did and I lost you.

He did and I lost him.

Since then, all I have are imaginary companions to keep me going, to make me laugh when I’m alone.

I’m so alone that being pathetic isn’t a barrier anymore.

And I miss you.

And I love you.

And I am so **sad**.


	2. in a city surrounded by the sea.

> | 19:47 pm. an isolated bench with graffiti.

Sometimes I still feel it, the way memories are felt.

I feel the loud bang of the gun, the bullet opening its way through the wall, the veiled threats, our anger, like electrical voltage, while we were alone, **safe** , in that abandoned flat in the outskirts of a city surrounded by the sea.

I remember their wishes, their words and they hate. The impotence. I remember my coldness, the factual mind I had, the steel against my neck.

Or maybe yours.

Because I did what I had to do and sometimes what I had to do was losing. and I hated losing.

Fear was our best friend those days. day or night it crept behind us like our shadow, like an invisible hand or the watching eye of a wicked and smiling god. we feared different things: being caught, being unable to fulfill the bill, the pain, the feeling of being an outcast, getting our families killed, getting killed. Maybe kill.

But my only fear was losing you in the turmoil, like a child in a war zone or in a city being swallowed by the sea.

I feared losing you like I did, like smoke, a dream.

I can’t look at a cigarette the same way. Not if it isn’t between your thin lips. I lost you. I fought, I fought and I fought without losing, without falling, making my own way—our escape, our salvation—through cartilage, blood and bones.

And, at the end, fire.

But you smiled _that way_ and laughed.

And I didn’t care. I didn’t care about the bruises or the internal bleeding. I couldn’t bring myself to care about my aching bones or the headache. My hands wouldn’t close due to inflammation but they still could feel your skin as you healed me.

Sometimes I fake you’re still touching me like that.

Because I miss you.

Because I love you.

And I get so, so sad.

In a city surrounded by the sea, you were the only light that shone bright enough for me to see. You were one with tanned skin and broken notes in your singing voice. A light that burned from the inside, like a candle surrounded by the sweet darkness of a peaceful night or a static fire, unmoving athwart the wind or the rain. Warm, homecoming, _alive_.

You smiled that way and suddenly became a simoom, raising that hell of parties and loud music with sand and heat—summer—, traveling your way through the desert, through the Siberian winter that had nested in my insides.

I was winter—I still am. I was your winter, your opposite.

But you loved me.

You did.

You do.

You did…

**_I am so sorry._ **

Would you believe that I loved you? Would you believe it?

Because I did.

I do.

I did.

Because maybe sometimes I still do.

But now I only remember feeling fear. The fear of another gun barrel against his blonde head, in front of his wine and stone eyes. I feel the fear—the fear that gives birth to hatred, to the need of blood, to the craving and the social repercussion of being a monster.

I still wish I had shred their entrails with my bare hands. I wish I had ripped every organ from their bodies with steel, nails and teeth. One by one, scream after scream, making them falling apart.

I wish I did.

But now it doesn’t matter.

Because I can’t feel like that again.

Now that revulsive fear only makes me sad. The hate, the deathwishes, the threats, the craving and the violence… the pain, the unbearable pain only makes me **sad**.

Because I am so **empty**.

And sadness is getting weaker as it grows, like the fog coming from the sea. it gets weaker as it spreads its humid and grey breath over the streets and the broken glass.

Because now I’m getting filled with emptiness and the last remains of what I was are fighting against my will. I think they fight for you.

I can just laugh. Sad, yes. A sad laugh. A cruel? laugh. Perhaps.

My own desperation makes me laugh.

Because in a city surrounded by the sea, now full of lights, I am going blind.


End file.
